


kind of love i'd never seen

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bottom Richie Tozier, Butt Plugs, Dominant Eddie Kaspbrak, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, M/M, Orgasm Control, Sex Toys, Sub Richie Tozier, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28859337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "You being good, Rich?” he adds, with deliberate casualness, a curveball, looking back into his camera from his laptop and his intent gaze penetrating Richie from a little over seven hundred miles away.“Yeah,” Richie says, mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve been good. I’m being good.”“Glad to hear it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, light. “Keep it up.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 128
Collections: Clowntown Kink Meme 2021





	kind of love i'd never seen

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [clowntown2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/clowntown2021) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Over the years Richie and Eddie have gained quite the toy collection. If Richie is good, Eddie will let him pick one out to play with

“Okay, babe, I’m about to board,” Richie tells Eddie over FaceTime, above the din of people starting to get up at his gate. He's fondly watching his husband’s serious face as he’s in Work Mode, hair neat, skin scrubbed, watch and rings and suit and tie, behind his desk in his fancy shiny office. “Sorry,” he adds, “I didn’t realize it was so close to time.” He’d wanted to sit here lounging in a narrow airport chair and shoot the shit, missing even just talking to Eddie.

“It’s fine,” Eddie allows, a dimple making an appearance as he glances away at something, probably a spreadsheet. “I’ve got a call at three anyway. You being good, Rich?” he adds, with deliberate casualness, a curveball, looking back into his camera from his laptop and his intent gaze penetrating Richie from a little over seven hundred miles away.

“Yeah,” Richie says, mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve been good. I’m being good.”

“Glad to hear it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, light. “Keep it up.” He smiles, holding Richie’s gaze. Richie’s a little unsteady on his feet as he ends the call and hoists up his duffel bag, preparing to get on the plane and go home where he belongs.

When he gets home, Eddie’s there, changed out of his suit (Richie’s somewhat disappointed to find this) and into sweats and a thin white t-shirt. “Welcome home,” he says at the door, with a tight embrace and a cheek-kiss. “I missed you.”

Eddie always says that, even when, like this time, Richie’s only been away since Friday morning. He seems to make a point of saying it, maybe to attempt to make up for the years they’d forgotten each other.

“Missed you too,” Richie says, readjusting his bag and feeling himself relax now that he’s home. ...Well, _start_ to relax.

“Go on and put your bag down, get changed, shower, whatever you want to do before we eat,” Eddie tells him. 

“Yeah,” Richie says with a nod, starting to walk back to their bedroom, wanting to drink in his fill of looking at Eddie but not letting himself, not yet. 

“But be good,” Eddie calls after him, voice laced with meaning, confident.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I will,” Richie calls back.

And he is. He’s at a half-chub just from anticipation, but he doesn’t touch himself more than necessary to just get clean, and after a while it abates as he schools his thoughts toward focusing on _being good_. 

He dresses not unlike Eddie, in comfortable sweats and a soft old t-shirt, and returns to the kitchen. Eddie turns to him with a smile and kisses him on the mouth, but doesn’t linger, and then returns to cooking on the stovetop. He’s making chicken stir-fry.

Sitting at the table with Eddie, Richie feels finally content once again, and he’s hungry—greasy, heavy airport food doesn’t satisfy. Eddie puts the hand not holding his fork on the table next to Richie, and Richie offers his free hand; Eddie squeezes his fingers, and they eat in a companionable quiet.

Nevertheless, Richie knows he isn’t imagining the underlying heat. The way Eddie deliberately but gently squeezes his fingers, traces his fingertips glancingly over Richie’s palm. But he doesn’t look up or give any other sort of sign. Richie suddenly wants to get dinner over with very quickly, even though he knows he needs to exercise patience.

“Four whole days,” Eddie remarks suddenly into the quiet, a few more bites left on his plate. “I think that’s a record for us.” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah, I think so,” Richie agrees, trying to keep his voice casual. He’s not sure whether he succeeds; he can feel himself flushing. He doesn’t look up at Eddie. Funny, he’s over 40 and his heart is pattering like he’s a nervous kid. 

“You were good,” Eddie continues, sounding approving. Richie’s starting to think that the word “good” as said by Eddie is always going to be heavy with meaning, now. 

“Why so surprised?” Richie asks, a little sardonically.

“It’s you,” Eddie says, and Richie does look at him now and he’s grinning, merry.

“Fuck you, I can be good!” Richie says, picking up a glass of water and taking a long drink to stop himself from… something.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I guess,” and he reaches out under the table to squeeze Richie’s thigh. It’s all Richie can do to not drop the glass. Eddie acts like nothing’s happened, standing and picking up his dishes, then stacking Richie’s on them, to take to the sink. “Go get on the bed,” he tells Richie over his shoulder. “Keep your clothes on this time, leave that for me.”

“Yeah, right. Got it, Eds.” Richie almost trips in his eagerness to comply, all legs when he’s standing like a baby moose or something, like he hasn’t had years to get used to how rangy and overall big he is now. He stops suddenly. “How do you want me?” he asks.

Eddie turns, puts his hands on his hips, tilts his head, considering. 

“On your back,” he says, “and get out the lube.”

Richie waits on their bed, fully clothed, erection tenting out his sweatpants, the lube next to him, his eyes on the door. He tries not to move, because when he does, his dick moves against the soft fabric. As he waits, he takes deep breaths. When he hears Eddie finishing up in the kitchen and walking down the hall, he can’t help sitting up more.

Eddie stops in front of him, folding his arms. “Hmm,” he says. “So, you were good, huh? You didn’t slip even once? Not in bed, not in the shower?”

“Yup,” Richie says, popping the P. “Scout’s honor.” He holds up his right hand to attempt to do the scout sign, but ends up doing the Vulcan salute, and then the devil’s horns, while he sticks his tongue out. Eddie laughs.

“Being good” had been a challenge. It’s like since he’s been with Eddie he’s entered some sort of weird second adolescence even though they’re in their 40s, one where he’s got everything he would have dreamed of as an actual horny teenager and more, way more than he could have even imagined in 1980s and 1990s small-town Maine. Like this, for example. 

Eddie steps closer. “Well, I trust you to tell me the truth,” he says, running his fingers idly through Richie’s slightly damp, clean hair. “Okay, I’ll let you pick out what you want me to use on you tonight.”

Richie’s heartbeat ticks up. _That’s_ interesting. Usually Eddie likes to decide, and in a way, it’s kind of a relief that he does, that he takes that decision from him. They’ve amassed a decent little collection over their time together, since before they landed on this little game for the times when one of them was out of town. Richie had once shyly requested that Eddie tie him to the headboard, which he did, and subsequently Eddie rode him hard and put him up wet; that started their interest in restraints, which was followed by some cock rings, nipple clamps, blindfolds, gags, dildos, and plugs. Most of them got used on Richie. Richie was happy to do whatever Eddie told him to do, blissful even, and Eddie loved to research and experiment with what really got Richie off. 

“Um.” Richie closes his eyes, thinking. “Yeah, a plug, I think.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie looks thoughtful. “You wanna be filled up?”

Richie nods. “Yeah,” he says, and swallows. “Missed it.”

“I bet you did. I missed it too.” Eddie smiles. “So which one do you want?”

Richie thinks, and then finally admits which one out of all of them has been dominating his thoughts since they added it to their collection. “The tunnel one.”

“Yeah?” Eddie raises his brow. They’ve only used that one once and they both seemed to enjoy it.

“Please,” Richie says, and watches Eddie’s ears turn pink. 

“Let’s get you undressed,” Eddie says, and Richie raises his arms to let Eddie tug his shirt off. Eddie smooths his hands down Richie’s shoulders, down his arms, around to his back before leaning in and kissing him—properly, now, the way Richie’s had to go without for four days. Jesus, decades apart and now he can barely make it four days without Eddie. 

Shifting forward, Eddie presses him back down onto the bed, bridging over him before kissing down his neck, down his chest, his stomach, sitting back to pull off his sweatpants but only after cupping and rubbing him through them as Richie sits up on his elbows again. “Fuck,” he mutters, and bites his lip, trying desperately to not rock his hips against the pressure of Eddie’s hot palm. But it’s too quick to be anything more than a tease.

Eddie’s naked too when he lubes up the tunnel plug. Richie hopes that means what he thinks it means. “Pull up your knees,” he instructs Richie.

Eddie slides the plug right into him, his fingers inside the tunnel part from the feel of it, and Richie can’t help a moan, his eyes closing. “Oh, shit.” His cock twitches. 

“Yeah, that feel good?” Eddie says, sounding distracted. Richie groans in response. He knows that as much as Eddie likes hearing him talk, he also likes it when he has trouble finding his words, and tonight he doesn’t feel the need to come up with quips. The plug isn’t particularly huge, but the purposeful lack of finger-prep means the stretch feels incredible. He flexes his toes.

With his other hand, Eddie starts cupping and massaging his balls, and Richie hisses in a breath at the intimate touch. His cock spurts out a little precome on his stomach, and he hears Eddie huff out a laugh. He opens his eyes when Eddie moves forward to lick at the head of his dick, which jumps.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

Eddie looks up at him coyly from under his lashes. Sitting back, he moves the hand that had been gently squeezing Richie’s balls to wrap around Richie’s dick, giving it a firm squeeze; it jumps in his grip. And then Eddie, his hand a little slick with lube and Richie’s precome, starts to slowly stroke him, his fingers inside the tunnel plug moving in counterpoint, nudging his prostate with a firm pressure when Eddie curls his fingers. Starting to breathe harder, Richie feels himself melt into the bed, thighs spreading wider, hips tilting up and back with the movement, a little wanton. He hears himself making soft, helpless noises in his throat.

“Yeah, you need it bad?” Eddie murmurs. Richie can only make a choked sound in response, with a quick nod.

He’s soon close and Eddie knows it. Richie’s glad that Eddie’s not teasing him this time, getting him close and then stopping, or at least he’s assuming that with the steady way he’s getting faster. Of course, if Eddie decides to tease him that way, he’ll deal with it. Eddie’s made him beg before.

“Good boy. You’re good, you’re perfect. Come on, Rich,” Eddie murmurs. “C’mon.”

With Eddie fucking him with his fingers deep inside the tunnel plug, and jerking him off, Richie comes. It feels like he melts after four days without it, or like he boils and evaporates.

He realizes he’s almost sobbing with relief, eyes wet. 

He watches dazedly as Eddie scoops up the come on his stomach and coats himself with it. Eddie slides the tunnel plug out and replaces it with his dick, and Richie’s oversensitive cock and tender but stretched hole twitch as he clumsily wraps his shaking legs around Eddie’s hips as he’s filled again. He’s almost wrung out, like he’s given Eddie his all, but Eddie asking him to go that much further, to just let himself be _used_ for Eddie’s pleasure now that it’s his turn, makes him shiver. 

It’s like Eddie’s testing him, stretching the bounds of his devotion—but that’s endless, if Eddie would see and accept it. And it’s a little scary, what he’d do for Eddie, to prove himself to Eddie. He’d walk across broken glass, swim in a lake of fire. It makes him ache deep inside, thinking about it. Thankfully all Eddie is asking him to do is not get off if they’re apart from each other, and in comparison that’s, well, not easy exactly, but something he can do. A ritual that’s just for them. 

“Missed you so much,” Eddie’s breathing. “So good for me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s skin is flushed, his eyes dark. Eddie’s not in the mood to tease himself tonight, either, apparently, from how he’s nailing Richie fast and hard. He wonders when the last time Eddie came was. He’s been known to call Richie up and tell him he’s getting off thinking about him, how he’s stroking himself or fingering himself, coming and not letting Richie get off to it too, so that when the call ends Richie has to take deep breaths and think about boring shit or things like Bill’s books until he calms down.

“Fuck. Gonna feel this tomorrow,” Richie tells him, savoring the burn, the soreness, what his body welcomes being done to it for Eddie while knowing Eddie’d never really hurt him. 

“Yeah you will,” Eddie says, leaning down to kiss him, a hungering, devouring kiss. Talk like that always makes Eddie a little crazy for it, and Richie smiles against his nipping mouth, tightens his legs around Eddie’s hips to keep him there. When Eddie comes, hot and trembling, he’s half-muttering almost-words against Richie’s mouth, Richie wrapped around him.

“I’m glad we started doing this,” Eddie says against Richie’s neck, low. “I like knowing you’re waiting for me to give this to you. Saving it for me.” He nuzzles Richie’s sweaty skin, gives him a kiss. Richie feels a little bit of Eddie’s come, mixed with his own, slip out of his hole. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, his arms still around Eddie. “It’s… special.” It maybe sounds kind of lame, putting it like that, but he thinks Eddie gets it. 

“Next time,” Eddie says, tone musing, “I’d like you to put a plug in before you fly home. You’re on the plane with it, then I pick you up, take you home and fuck you when you’re stretched out for me. You want to do that?”

Richie blinks. “Jesus, yeah,” he finally says. Years of denying to himself how much he likes bottoming, and now this. That is, when Eddie’s not demanding Richie fuck him, which he’s also all too happy to do. 

“Maybe one of those ones with a prostate stimulator,” Eddie continues. “Something like that. If you’re good, that is.”

“Eddie, I’d be losing my mind in public for hours,” Richie says, aware of a little whine in his tone—and he’s not sure if that’s a protest. Eddie just smiles, dimples on display. “Fuck, you’re a little demon, you know that?”

“I love you,” Eddie whispers, disarming him completely.

Richie kisses his temple. “I love you too,” he murmurs back, and it feels wholly inadequate, but he thinks Eddie gets it.


End file.
